Ordinary World
by Sweswe
Summary: The beginning of the end was a murder. The beginning of it all had been a small cut on my thumb. I had killed before, and later on murdered a few times. Why? Well, to me it was like punching someone back. Death is quite the ordinary thing, you know.
1. Already Over

_Ordinary World  
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_Chapter 1_

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_Already Over_

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Everything fell apart for me the warm summer night that I entered her bedroom. This despite my haunting paranoia that forced me to push my plotting and planning to the most profane peak of nit-picky detail. I can imagine how silly I must have looked then, standing there on the regal blue carpet trying to control my heavy breathing. When I forced it quiet I began to tremble and I flexed about every muscle I could control to find my cool. So after everything I had gone through to make it inside unseen and to set up a believable alibi I spent several valuable minutes switching between shaking and letting out loud raspy breaths.

My jumpy behavior was not the silly part I mentioned – I can bet that the feverish glint in my eyes would take the humor away from it had anyone seen it. Now imagine this panting creature, pale as a ghost and with large beads of sweat rolling down its face in the middle of the night standing in a dark room. Messy hair, wearing one of those "old-time" night shirts, naked legs and thick black socks (bare feet stick to the floor and are much too loud), bright turquoise dish washing gloves, a fabric bag in the left hand and in the cramped grip of the right one a long glamorous white scarf of the finest quality (I had combed the whole city to find the perfect one especially for tonight).

My eyes would not leave her while I calmed myself. She had allowed the blanket to slide down and reveal the silky white nightgown she was wearing. I took a step closer and her pointy ears twitched. I froze. I had snuck in here before, I had casually asked questions to those close to her, all to find out everything about her sleeping habits. She would for sure be in deep sleep by now. I walked all the way up to the bed and let the scarf, light as a feather, drop down on top of her.

Now I better handle my work like the pro I saw myself as rather than the amateur that I was. I pulled out the rope from the bag and gently lifted her left arm to the bedpost. After closely watching her sleeping face – she had the most gorgeous lustrous skin – I grabbed her right wrist and crossed it over her left one. If I tied it too painfully she might wake up and I wanted to avoid that at any cost, but a part of me also wanted there to be left marks of what would transpire tonight. I went down the safe road and put my finishing touch on my work by slowly and ever so gently lowering the silvery duct tape over her lips. I felt their softness press against my fingers when I stroked the surface to make sure it was in place.

The whole time I had been bending over her from the side of her bed. Now came the moment I had been waiting for. I crawled onto the bed while feeling as if I might flinch if I so only weighted down the mattress more than what I had anticipated. A rush of satisfaction came over me as I successfully straddled her, still careful not to disturb her sleep in any way. In spite of my many precautions I feared for those eyes to open and stare into mine. This woman possessed magical powers. Myself, I had never showcased any talent for it and thus I did not know much about it (which was a disadvantage for this situation). Of what I had been able to figure out I was quite sure that she needed to be able to move her arms to control its flow – and I had taken care of that – but what if she could still produce a blast or something else that would wake up the other inhabitants of the house? No, she better sleep through it all.

One of my palms slid underneath the scarf and I moved my hand in a circling motion that wrapped the smooth scarf around it. I threaded, like through the eye of a needle, the other end through the space between her tender neck and the fluffy pillow. I loosely tossed it across her and did the same thing a second time before I wrapped the end securely around my free hand.

I felt that I had to savour the moment. Her bosom was rising and falling. Her peaceful countenance under the tied up arms and the duct tape gave me the image of an innocent lamb about to be sacrificed and slaughtered for a greater purpose. A white angel bowing down to fate. She was so alive and warm in this moment.

My hands began moving away from each other. The soft fabric glided around her neck and tightened the snare. I pulled hard. Her head jolted back and had it not been for the tape a choking sound would most likely have made it out. In my head I counted the seconds. I had tried to research my method of killing but had been unable to find out how prone bothersome victims were to wake up when the body found there was no blood reaching the brain. I relied solely on my knowledge that it would merely take seconds for her to fall unconscious and most likely she would not even realize what I was doing to her before she fell into the deepest of sleeps. I believe her eyes fluttered open but once I took a good look they were peacefully closed and her body was lying limp underneath me. Not with the relaxed motionlessness that can all of a sudden be broken by one curling up like a cat enjoying a cozy nap. There were no longer any slow rhythmic breaths that melted into the silence like a sweeping whisper.

I pulled harder on the scarf and eyed the ceiling for a while as I did so. Yes, I needed to make sure that I finished the job (using a soft scarf could backfire, I had prepared myself for that) but I also wanted to leave tracks. If I wanted to I could probably tighten the ropes around her wrists now but I dismissed the thought. Like this there was no sign that I had taken her life by force. She was still the martyr; the beautiful sacrificed angel. That was when I remembered the scissors. With a low grunt I bent over and reached for it on the floor.

I had already decided what to do with the corpse. My hands had become sweaty just thinking about what could happen if I drew a blank in this situation, was stressed, made a mistake, was delayed. Oh, the horror. Now that I was here I felt more inspired than ever before. What if I cut off a few limbs? Would that not be a sight? The head on a torso without arms or legs and red blotches of blood where they were missing? Or maybe leaving the head alone on the pillow would make a more powerful impression – if I opened her eyes? You see, this was the most important part. I felt nothing for this girl. We had talked a few times and I would even call her a sweet person. The one I wanted to hurt and damage was him and not her.

People always make a huge fuss about people dying, or death in general. As I do not care much myself I find this humanity... not fascinating but curious. I never get tired watching my true victims' reaction when someone dear to them is found dead. It is hard to explain – both about how strange their grief seems to me and my own lack of it.

I guess it started... not with a murder but with something as small as when I cut my finger. The wound was so tiny and pitiful it did not even cross over half of the width of my thumb. Yet the blood. Something so thin and watery and still so rich of color. The way it flowed I swear it covered my whole hand in seconds. At first I could only stare and watch how it behaved when I twisted and turned my hand to try and shed as little blood as possible. After some time I found that my hand was frozen stiff. It was reluctantly that I wrapped a handkerchief around my stubby finger to stop the bleeding. I realized that it was probably not as much blood as it looked like but I could not shake off the feeling of awe.

Killing was similar in a way. Life was short and made out to be so much more grandiose and important than it really was. What was a life in the greater context? What made a person irreplaceable? If I took the light out of someone's eyes its loved ones would wail and mourn and then they would live on the short time they had left and long before their time came the person I had taken would be forgotten. It made no difference. It was an amazing feeling to take a life and observe death in its most fresh and young moment. It was quite entertaining to watch the exaggerated effect of the ones left behind. So I was going to have a lot of fun now and create something that would not be so easily forgotten by the man I recently found I resented.

Should I cut her eyes out? Create trails of blood down her cheeks? I kept pondering. The man I was out for was absolutely smitten with this woman. I had watched them for days walking side by side and how they glowed with happiness whenever they were together. They were – sorry – had been the best of friends. They laughed, they confided in each other, they made sure to see each other every day. They were living their lives together, closer than family. If I took her I knew it would kill him that such a thing could have happened while they were sleeping under the same roof. He took for granted that his own silent promise to always keep her safe would never allow any harm to come to her and now it had happened right under his nose.

The love I had seen in his eyes, his expression, floated around in my memory and right there and then I thought about raping her dead body. Do not get me wrong. I was not attracted to her and I had not set out to do such a thing to begin with. In fact, I condemned such a foul crime but now she was dead. She was a dead shell and I could slice her up and do whatever I wished to her without caring in the least. He would care though. She was still warm and if I rubbed up against her I would probably be ready to go but to tell the truth I was not in the mood. I was not even in the mood to get in the mood. It might perhaps not take much longer than what I had in mind for her but it felt like such a hassle to go through with.

I released her hands and removed the duct tape. I reminded myself why I had bought such a beautiful scarf. I had already decided what kind of art I would create, which sight that would greet the witnesses. I laid down her arms, spread out from her body and took the ends of the scarf and did the same thing. Just one small thing now. I grabbed the scissors and stared down at her. Her hair spread out like sunbeams. A sea of shimmering golden locks. I started chopping them off unevenly and doing as sloppy of a work as I could. I picked up chunks of hair and threw them about to position them in a way that would create the picture I had in mind.

I shifted to get off her and again the thought of teasing that guy struck me. I eyed the scarf covering her neck and then I lowered myself over her. My lips ran over her skin, approaching the place where her heart should be, about the top part of her left breast. I pressed down, let my lips part and sucked. I took my time and it sounded like the end of an affectionate kiss when I stopped, but after one short inhalation I was at it again. My warm saliva heightened the pleasure. Even though I did not care for this woman I can admit that I would not give this treatment to just any victim. My tongue moved up and down, back and forth and round in circles while my lips stuck to her. I pulled back and admired my work. A hickey – a sign of possession – would surely drive him crazy and make his imagination run wild.

A soft golden glow lit up the flushed area on her pale skin. It truly was an amazing sight but I frowned, because I found it quite odd, the light I mean. It felt as if my heart stopped beating when my eyes landed on the back of my own hand. There was a pyramid of three golden triangles shining on it – the bottom left one shining brighter than the others. It shone through the glove I had put on. I rubbed it, tried to cover it, slammed my other fist down on it but it was still there. I could feel that I was sweating all over again. This used to be on her hand. This was proof of what I had done. I had to get rid of it. But how? I had to be there when they found her.

Murdering this woman would be my downfall?

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(A/N)

Murder is not exactly what I would usually write but I have given death tries before (although this is fairly harmless in my opinion. I do not want an M-rating). This was more of a random short thing I wrote on a whim. I might look it over a bit more later (I have proof-read it but perhaps not as many times as I usually do and I cannot remember when I last made so few changes) and I plan on writing more chapters but I am quite confused about why I ended up writing it at all and I just hope I can get in the mood to finish it. The hints I threw in about who the murderer is are very, very vague and I would like to make it more obvious. I also want to write about Link's reaction to finding Zelda dead (uhm, yes, it was clear that she was the victim, right?). Maybe I should not forget about the overall plot and the beginning of all of this and where it will lead to? This is actually not the first death and because of this Zelda will show up safe and sound in later chapters. Quite sad that it will inevitably end this way for her.

I hope you enjoyed it (well, you know what I mean) and thank you for reading.


	2. Faceless

_Ordinary World_

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_Chapter 2_

**-o-**

_Faceless_

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Some birds have the most horrifying cry. One note erupting from that black gap when the beak opens and it sounds as if their eggs have been crushed. I awoke to the sound of a shriek, with a start – even though it sounded distant, and yet in some way close, like from a bird soaring across the open sky above me. My eyes immediately moved to the back of my hand, which looked as ordinary as ever. I did not reflect upon it. The next moment I had jumped out of bed and was grasping for the clothes I had prepared on the chair by the desk. I was out the door without bothering with the boots. The soles of my feet hammered on the beech wood floor as I ran but I was still perfectly aware of that soft sticky sound bare feet makes. No matter, I kept my eyes on what lay ahead of me.

"Keep the kids out of here!" I heard Princess Peach's distinctively high voice from the room that had a whole crowd of people jamming its entrance. Something had to be really wrong if she used that tone. I if anyone knew there was reason for it.

Just as I was thinking about how to get past and inside I was given an opportunity when someone else elbowed his way out. Captain Falcon was dragging Young Link and Ness out of the room to the group of children standing huddled up together, looking smaller than usual and glancing up at the adults. My heart skipped a beat and I could not help but to watch the face of the boy with the pointy ears and the blond hair. His innocent blue eyes had widened but the moment I saw them, and the terror within, I felt my excitement fade. Those flickering eyes, the clenched jaw and uncontrollable quivers signaled the panic and fear of not knowing. Like a child lost at a mall. What was the difference between being left on one's own, wondering where mommy and daddy went, and finding out that they were not coming because they were in an accident? At least there was some kind of difference. I turned and sidestepped through the narrow space that had appeared between bodies that were otherwise standing packed as sardines.

The skin around my eyes tightened when I entered. The morning sun was casting a bright glow over the bedroom, reflecting off tiny particles of dust dancing peacefully in the air, and the wind was playing with the light curtains through the open window. I could make out parts of the long white nightgown spread out on the blanket of the bed. I leaned to get a better view and the saliva that had gathered in my mouth was grossly thrown back in my throat and swallowed when Princess Peach dashed into me. There was no question she had reached a limit, which did not come as too big of a surprise considering what I had heard before – not calming others down before herself was... not like her.

"W-what happened?" I stammered. The faked weakness rung in my ears and clashed with the strength I knew my voice possessed. I let my eyes wander over her upset face as an extra precaution. Her shaky grip around my blue shirt tightened and she called my name before falling against my chest. I stroked her soft sunny blonde hair mechanically while staring straight ahead at the many heads still blocking great parts of my view and hoped to express a convincing image of paralyzing shock.

"Sorry... sorry," Peach excused herself, shaking her head, and broke away from me. I stared after her running out the room – her people stepped aside for – and seized the opportunity to let my confused eyes beg for answers from the many pairs of eyes that stared back – because I had just arrived and knew nothing. I was filled with innocent fear and anxiety. Tell me, had there been another murder? This would be the third one. How much more could we take? What were we supposed to do now?

At last came the moment for me to move to the front. I had to make sure. To them, confirming my worst fears when in reality I wanted to make sure that my work of art had turned out to my satisfaction. I had created it in complete darkness and now it was bathed in a heavenly light. There was one thing alone able to resist this violent pull, and it was also the one thing standing in my way. I became aware of my heart once again. It knew not of any false appearances and drummed wildly when I spotted the green tunic worn by the critic that had inspired this little exhibition. It made me feel warm inside that he had come here without sword or shield. It went to show the value, and the power, of something as diffuse and unfeeling as time; mere seconds against reason and an irrevocable choice of the future one will have to forever live with. In this case, when it was already much too late for what he hoped to achieve, it would only have made me disappointed in his character to find that he had taken the time to arm himself. Now I was numb with anticipation for his reaction.

He was not alone by the bed. There were four other figures there: Fox McCloud, Falco Lombardi, Samus Aran and Ganondorf Dragmire. They all directed their eyes to me when I stepped out from the crowd. Except Link. The one whose face I wanted to see desperately, my critic, did not turn around. I put on my mask of anxious fear, inched closer, and stared, not at them but at my own work. I once read that an arsonist will watch the whole spectacle he has caused while the bystanders will not be able to tear their eyes away from the blazing fire. I did not want to stand out in the wrong way, especially not among people who had had their fair share of crime, death and evilness. In a way it was kind of aggravating, because I really was there to watch the spectacle and that tiny pleasure, the whole point for me to be here actually, could expose me. I tried to strain my ears to listen in on their theories as much as I strained my eyes to stare at the dead body of Princess Zelda.

They said nothing of worth. They were not even sure if the murderer was someone from the outside, someone involved with the tournament or one of us competitors. They did notice that she had been strangled without any struggle but interpreted way too much into the cutoff hair.

"A woman's pride is her hair. Ain't that what they say?"

A few others in the crowd had followed my lead and taken the initiative to involve themselves in the conversation – although most merely moved around to get a better view or looked to and fro. Some could not take it any longer and left like Peach had. The attention pleased me but it burnt me to the core that one person was just standing there like a worthless sack of potatoes. Every time I had taken the risk to have a look on his face it had been expressionless. He had those kind of leaning eyebrows and a stern mouth that made him look more serious than most, unless he smiled and lit up like the sun, but that did not excuse, or explain, this complete lack of emotion. This was his princess. His princess that I had taken from him. Nonetheless, no matter what everyone else around said about what kind of low person the murderer might be, what kind of no-good motive he or she might have or what horrible humiliating reason lay behind Zelda's corpse being left like this, Link remained a blank sheet of paper. Not even my composition, the image of her, which he kept staring at, would move him.

"What's that?" I said, with ill-meaning spite disguised behind the naiveté some people mistakingly saw in me, pointing at the blushing mark by the white neckline of the nightgown. There were a few awkward glances until Falco, who stood next to Fox with crossed wings, said in his typical straightforward fashion, "looks like a hickey to me."

Samus's eyes, which were about the only thing one could see of her in that futuristic metallic suit of armor, moved to Link and I saw that as my cue to do the same. There was not much of a change in him although he looked rigid, I'd give him that. His face was frozen in its neutral grimace and the intensively blue eyes had gone from not being able to move from the Hylian princess to being transfixed upon her chest area. It was only because I had purposefully chosen to position myself close to him that I heard him inhale.

"Nightly affairs, eh?" Ganondorf broke the tense silence. "She must have invited someone here for some fun and this is how it ended."

The Gerudo smirked at Link and this time several more people, if not most, turned to look at the young hero, myself included. It was an effort not to give in to the anger I felt when I found him back to the same unforced neutrality as before, with a serious expression responding to Ganondorf's scorn.

"I've never done anything like that to her," Link said and I ground my teeth behind closed lips at how controlled his voice was. It was a reprimand though, so there was at least some kind of emotion in the Hylian's words, and I liked the way he stressed "like that" while his eyes flickered back to the hickey.

"And you all know she wouldn't invite anyone here," Link added, louder this time to address the whole room. I guess it was no arguing what he said. He did not leave any room to discuss as he whirled around and strode out of the room with his head bent down. Ganondorf chuckled and was given a glare by Samus walking past him. I grabbed her arm.

"I'll go after him."

It was lucky that I had settled for a worried face because I can't say that the look Samus gave me made me feel calm. I was under her scrutiny for a good ten seconds before she straightened up and thanked me. There was a pause before she added my name. It was probably something expressing warmth or closeness, at least coming from her who was always sparse with these things. My relief must have come across as a friendly smile. We had to stick together during times like these. I nodded at her and chased after Link.

My hands were sweaty. I had to take a deep breath and clench my hand into a tight fist to stop the shaking before I knocked on his door. He opened up right away, a narrow creek through which he looked at me. There was no sign that he had let any emotions out even in his loneliness and I realized that it made me too upset to speak without coming across as suspicious

"What?" he said and I scratched the back of my head. I heard my nails tear away the cells from my oily scalp.

"We thought someone should check on you," I said.

"Thanks. I'm fine." He tried to shut the door but I grabbed it with both hands and pulled it open.

"What I meant to say..." I kept holding on to the side of the door took a moment to stare down at my feet before I added, "are you okay?"

I felt the resistance give in but Link did not open the door wide for me. He just looked at me as if I had woken him up in the middle of the night and all he had in his head was going back to bed.

"I'm no good at comforting. I can listen but I won't ask you to talk or anything. I thought just maybe it'd be better if you knew you weren't alone right now," I said.

"Come in."

I was lucky that he was quick to turn around and lead me inside because I could not hold back the wide grin that spread on my lips until my facial muscles screeched in protest. My shoulders trembled as though I was laughing when I followed him into the room.

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(A/N)

This chapter seems different to me. I feel that I am back to my old self and my old writing. I also feel that this might be a little bit of a shame. I was stuck, I let go, and for once there was something happening in a story of mine. Now I am back to finding that I am thinking ahead and that what I have in mind will not make it into the end of the chapter I am working on. I shamelessly ask you to please bear with me.

...

Dear reviewers, whenever I receive a review I feel that my thanks are not enough - often they are silly and exaggerated. This time I feel like making a bow and I hope I am not being too pompous. For being an author (well, at least an author on this website) I feel that words fail me far too often. I might be the kind who cares way too little, who only writes for myself and when I feel like it and shares with an unknown space in hope that there might be to someone's liking (at least a little – or make you react and want to write things the way they should be). And while I am being this horrible and selfish I feel such a strong gratitude and happiness that you are there. It helps me to see how I made characters out to be, where I was being too vague and where I could have held back. Reviews are also inspirational because every comment on the content should say something about that reader's likes or dislikes and that is quite fun to think about. Hmm, as usual I find myself talking too much. Thank you for making me happy.

Even if you do not review. I am happy and it is very reassuring that you are there on the other side. Thanks for reading.


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